Novis
by Maige
Summary: On a night that many are familiar with, that's just a bit different than the story most know, a member of a small English police force gets bitten by a vampire. Role Reversal AU/IxS/AxS
1. Rebirth

Keeping my promise is putting my work on here! This is something I've had rolling around in my head for a bit; I was pushed to finally do it after seeing a fic on here with the same premise!

This is gonna be very experimental, and VERY canon divergent. alot of experimenting with Seras as someone who's been a vampire for centuries, and Alucard as a human in the late 90s, while keeping character. I noticed quite a few people complaining about using Vlad as a name as being very cliche, so with the name I chose I wished to still keep him Romanian, to keep as close to his character as possible.

Things will be fleshed out as I go along, such as if I want millennium involved or not.

If you want to talk about Hellsing or Seras or Seras, feel free to catch me at maiiart on tumblr!

* * *

_Integra had never truly pondered on her father's fascination with vampires, although she really should have._

_Everyone had odd likings. Her nanny was quite fond of those dime paperbacks with dramatic and flamboyant covers, and once when Integra had snuck a peek into one she had quickly concluded that it was mindless drivel. _

_Her father had pounded endlessly into her skull the fact of how dangerous nosferatu were. Dangerous, cunning, powerful, the enemy of mankind and something to be feared and hated. _

_Yet, as she turned and saw the withered corpse was no longer a withered corpse, but a woman bent over with a serpentine tongue out to lap the spilt blood on the concrete floor, she felt no fear. She felt no hate. _

_The eyes that bore into her own were most assuredly not human, but they were kind and gentle, and a lit with relief that the girl she was shielding was, for the most part, alright. Even the prompt transformation from soothing to murderous, once Richard had gathered his bearings, did nothing to stir any negative feelings in the young orphan. _

"_What did my father call you?" was her question to the creature once everything was said and done. _

_Said creature smiled. It exposed deadly canines, but her smile was not one of malice, not one to ignite any fear. She was very unlike the horrific, mad creatures of bloodlust Integra's father had told her of. In spite of the blood from the massacre that was starting to absorb into her pale skin. _

"_Just Seras is fine, Master."_

* * *

Everything had occurred so fast, too fast for comprehension, that the time frame between the point where he had been unloading bullets into the men he had worked with for months and the point where his gaze was forced into the night sky, chest wound raw and gaping and sending blood bubbling into his mouth, felt like it was no more than a few sparse seconds.

Reckless. _Arrogant. _A green novice who was reprimanded more than once for his overzealous attitude ('_We're not in_ America, _boy_', was the phrase often thrown his way), far too eager to run out, guns blazing, even as the old black and white zombie movies he watched when he was an actual boy began to come to life around him ('_You're so keen on spending everyday fantasizing about shooting the bad guys, why the hell did you join a cop squad in a rural town out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere_', was another sentiment he heard quite a bit.)

Who knows. Maybe he was somehow aware that a future job of checking out the odd disappearances surrounding a church would turn out to be zombies and _fucking vampires, _giving him that perverse excitement a many a thrill seekers sought out.

Unfortunately it didn't end the way one would fantasize about. Not that he wasn't willing to fight to his last breath, even after all of his ammo was gone (the last clip had been sent into the priest), furious over the matter and seeing red. Distantly he could hear the sounds of talking -yelling from the vampire, calmed discussion from a second party-, of more gunshots, and even more distantly he could register that there was someone else with them. Someone else beyond the ghouls.

Then his ears were deafened by the largest blast yet, and it was here he found himself sprawled on the ground. Warmth of blood and the agony of pain taking over his senses, eyes drawn to the moon. How large it was tonight, crimson and bulbous and soon masked over by a figure, looming over his broken body.

Red will-o-wisps surveyed him. _Another vampire_, was the curt thought, supplied by a slowly dying brain.

A voice broke the now still night, nothing like he would have imagined. The priest's inflection had been alternatively high pitched and guttural, the crazed tone of a person drunk on death and power. He had shrieked his intentions, the sort of fellow who enjoyed just hearing his own voice.

"You didn't seem to hear me."

Soft.

"So I'm afraid I had to take the shot anyway."

Female.

"It was either me, or that blighter would've taken you out. I would prefer me."

Distinctly _British_.

The figure leaned in closer, and briefly his fading vision managed to re-focus. He could make out a halo of blonde hair, the edges lit up by the edges of the moon.

"I can help you if you wish to live, which I imagine you would, if you answer my question properly this time. Are you a virgin?"

If it were any other situation, he would have laughed - honestly he still felt like laughing, but with the whole 'hole in the chest' thing going on, he doubted it would help his quickly dwindling life span. It would hurt far too much, and he wouldn't be able to answer her question; and what a question it was. Dying in the grass with his entire squad long dead themselves, and a strange lady (vampire) asks him if he was _chaste._

Yet once the humour of the scenario had dissipated, he was only left with one thing, pulling into every single one of his steadily draining veins.

He had fought for his safety as a child,

\- _memories he did not want to steep on often, but kept him motivated and moving_ -

forcefully pushed himself into the police force of, yes, a hicktown cop squad,

-_all xenophobic attitdes pushed towards him aside_ -

,killed his own coworkers once they decided their sights were aimed towards devouring him, and _fought _against the one that had turned them undead in the first place, regardless of the obvious difference in strength, a rabbit going up against a war canon.

He did not do all of these things, only to die shortly afterwards. The will to survive was strong, instilled deeply and historically into his still human blood.

And he _was _a virgin.

An incline of the head, the small movement forced and laborious, and a trembling,red-soaked hand rising upwards was his answer.

The woman smiled. Her fangs glinted. She knelt, and pulled him against her lap as if he weighed nothing.

Gloved fingers brushed delicately through his hair. His ponytail had come loose during the fray, and the idle stroking through the black tresses quietly reminded him of a time where everything was far better than it was now.

"It's such a beautiful night, isn't it," the girl breathed. It truly was, the moon above appearing to both be of the super and blood sort. He wasn't sure if these two natural phenomena could occur at the same time. And around the natural nightlight glittered the expanse of stars, unmasked due to the small town's lack of light pollution. It made him think of home.

Only his laboured breathing interrupted the stillness of the early morning. The vampire's face was now dipped down, mouth opening, and he felt something sharp against his neck.

"This will only hurt for a moment."

The knife-live objects (_fangs_), dug in, breaking through flesh as if it were made out of rice paper. His body jerked, eyes bulging, and _oh_ it somehow hurt a lot more than being shot with something that left a bowling ball sized hole in his body, making him writhe as his breath was cut off, the audible sounds of liquid being drawn through two straws pounding endlessly through his ears. Fire drew through his bloodstream.

Mercifully the fire was soon replaced by a more pleasant sort of warmth, akin to drinking soup on a cold day. The agony of his wound had melted away, and like one receiving anaesthetic after a particularly bad accident, he quickly found himself slipping away.

* * *

"Seras. I've known you for a decade now. Walter had known you for even longer. We are well familiar with your history before Hellsing. And you have never shown any interest in raising a fledgling."

The sun was on the rise, sending flares of deep red and pink above. Seras was well aware of how her Master would react to seeing her ambling along the field back towards base, holding a man twice her size in her arms. Bundled all up in a blanket as well.

It was as wonderful as she expected. How rare it was to gather an actually amusing response from the Iron Maiden, and Integra's eyes widening and mouth opening was absolutely perfect. She even managed to drop her cigar!

"There's a first time for everything!" Seras chirped, as she rummaged through the unconscious man's pockets for a form of identification. She didn't have to look to know that Integra's mouth was curling with doubt.

"Seras."

"He was dying, and he wanted to live. I had the ability to grant that wish - well, he's _technically _alive - and he deserved it." With a noise of triumph, she pulled out what appeared to be a wallet."Not many humans would come across a vampire and have 'shoot the hell out of them' as their first instinct, after watching their co-workers get turned into ghouls."

A lighter clicked behind her, followed by a sigh. It spelled out defeat, a clear message of _sometimes I don't understand what the fuck is going on in your blonde head._ "He's your responsibility, then."

Seras tilted her head, grin cheeky. "I'll be sure to housetrain him, and walk him every day."

Her Master snorted ruefully in response, and Seras opted for finding the name of her new childe rather than continuing to goad the bespectacled woman. Flipping the wallet open immediately gave her a driver's license.

"Vilhelm," Seras pronounced aloud, rolling the letters experimentally through her mouth, quite unsure if she was even pronouncing it correctly. The structure of the name sounded familiar, a language that she had known once upon a time. One of her age had plenty of time to roam across Europe, experience the cultures and people and tongue, but one of her age had also lived long enough that they all tended to melt together to the point where she often couldn't recall what came from where. Always on the tip of her tongue.

She didn't bother looking at his last name. He no longer needed it.

Instead she looked to the sun, on the cusp of the horizon. It was brilliant, hues of red and orange and pink and purple and white flung through the expansion above, warm and inviting.

Unlike other vampires, unlike the one that she had just killed, Seras would not explode into fire as the giant star rose.

Unlike other vampires, Seras found the sun compelling and wonderful and beautiful. Sunlight had a smell, and it invited her to bask in it, tranquilizing tiredness it placed onto her aside.

Her freshly transformed fledgling continued to rest peacefully, protected by the light by both the blanket and his Master's power, now flowing through every one of his cells. He too would not burst into flames.

Seras turned to the rest of the small camp that had been set up, watching as men folded up chairs and took down tents. Her hand moved to the ex-police man's head, tangling her fingers through black hair. He didn't stir, even as their ride back to the manor made its way up the grass.

The butler - _her old friend, the Angel_ \- cocked a brow as he stepped out of the vehicle, and Seras could only smile wider as she pulled the sleeping man back into her arms. It really must have been quite the sight, her short stature swamped by a bundle of a person who must have had a bit more of a foot over her.

Integra's expression was one that silently ordered Walter to not question things just yet, and Seras' mouth continued to split across her face.

"Let's take Vilhelm back home, shall we?"


	2. Viribus

_Memories of childhood came in fragmented pieces._

_The human mind had a fascinating way of dealing with trauma, locking it away, tucking it into the wrinkled recesses of your brain to help you go about your daily life without being too fucked up. Repressed memories shoved down in pandora's box, ones that would cause as much chaos as the fabled story told._

_But there were still bits, here and there. Photo shots of brothers, of strict rules, of rough hands grabbing his arm hard enough to wilt and bruise._

_"How sad," a voice commented. Whoever it was, the audience to his past life sounded truly remorseful, upset by what had been a fairly miserable childhood. There was the feel of slim fingers shifting through his mind, poking and prodding, turning through the images laid deep like one would flip through the pages of a worn scrapbook. The spectator drew these out for them to look with no resistance, although somewhere deeper he had the bother to be disgruntled by this intrusion._

_When the voice spoke again they still retained the same edge of sadness, but held a more wry tone, as one would when trying to lighten the mood at a tragic event. It was getting more distant, as he began to breach the surface back to conscious life, but he managed to catch it before coming back to Earth._

_"Do you think experiencing trauma as a kid is supposed to be a requirement for joining Hellsing?"_

* * *

Stone was what Vilhelm was met with when he awoke. Slowly other senses came to him - the sounds of people walking and talking above, the feel of a scratchy blanket encompassing him, a lingering hunger in the pit of his stomach, the lack of pain where the gunshot should have utterly destroyed his heart. His mouth was dry, and the darkness on the grey ceiling seemed to swirl in dark patterns. There was, also, a woman sitting beside his bed, and he swore he smelled her ( roses, blood, comfort, power ) before he saw her.

If her voice wasn't anything he had imagined, her appearance was just as less suited. Doll-like as she was, wrapped in a uniform with a far too short skirt.

"Good, you're awake!" she beamed, standing up with such force it knocked her chair right over. It was here he noticed that her left arm was a queer red, a red that moved incessantly like the shadows above."I've never done this before - well, I've bitten people but they've never stayed long afterwards - and I wasn't sure how long your post-transformation rest should be."

As she rambled, Vilhelm rose a hand to his chest. He was out of his uniform, placed in what seemed to be cotton pajamas, and the hole was gone. There was no movement under his flesh.

As she rambled, he could see her fangs periodically flashing.

"Where am I?" he managed to ask, cutting off the girl's speech. He had gotten the gist of the situation, still could recall everything that had happened - but again, that tricky human brain. Vilhelm considered himself to be the sort of man who could roll through any sequence of oddities without harm, but the idea of vampires existing still managed to give him that good ol' dose of shock.

The woman (mistress, something in him called), did not answer at first. She looked at him, appraising him, and for whatever reason the stare unnerved him, made him want to duck his head in some form of animal submission. He was not fond of having such a reaction from a girl half his height simply staring at him.

"Romanian!" she finally cried out, nearly making him jolt with her loud enthusiasm."I knew I recognized it. How fitting."

Still grinning wildly, she bent over to pick up her chair, once more taking a seat. "You are currently in the headquarters of the Hellsing organization, a group dedicated to snuffing out bad supernatural events. As you may remember, you were confronted with a bad supernatural event, and to keep you from permanently dying, I had to take some extreme measures." She levelled him with another look, a pinch more serious now. "I've turned you into a vampire."

No one could blame Vilhelm for initially not knowing how to take this. It wasn't that, logically, he couldn't believe her - there was no giant chunk of flesh missing from his upper body, all of his senses had appeared to be heightened, and he had felt no heartbeat. He was all, for all intents and purposes, dead, and an experimental prod at his mouth allowed him to feel those twin pointed teeth.

She was watching him for a reaction, and again a forceful thought was thrust into him, a dozen monikers at once that made no sense.

(_ Seras, our sire, our mistress, lady of the night, lady of them all, our queen_ )

"Vampire," he repeated.

"Vampire," Seras (_ mistress_ ) affirmed.

As one had to do when pushed into a situation, Vilhelm was forced to make any sort of shock melt away. He was greeted with the director of his newfound line of work (the master of my master) and the butler (who didn't look as he seemed). And then he was immediately brought to the kitchen, woving through the several hallways of the manor to get there. He had once lived in a manor, when everything was alright.

The new childe watched as Seras grabbed a bag of red from a medical box, placed inside the fridge. She was still talking. She talked a lot.

"We're going to let you take a couple of days to get adjusted to everything, but there's one thing we need you to do before we go any further."

The bag was placed in front of him. The crimson inside called to the young midian, ached like a man confronted with food after a long fast. There was a straw affixed to the side.

"It looks like the world's most macabre juice box," he muttered, previously saliva-less mouth suddenly flooded with an influx of need to drink. He was a bit afraid that if he parted his lips any more, he'd start drooling.

"Pretty much!" Seras began the process of opening the bag for him. "Now, for most who didn't actively choose to become undead, this is usually the hardest part at first. You're hungry, but you still have that instinctive revulsion as you were still human mere hours ago. But we can not take your training anywhere unless you do this first."

Head down, she looked up at him, coals of fire burning through lace-woven eyelashes. Again it made him freeze, and again he didn't like it.

"The one thing I told myself is if I ever did have a childe, I would make them drink blood right away. Even if I had to force it down their throat personally."

It was the most stern she had sounded, a lingering regret caught up somewhere in the seriousness of her statement. Vilhelm couldn't help but look at her arm. Dark maroon shadows periodically rose in small rivets, like ghostly waves.

"Do you understand?"

He hated this part. Hated having someone above him. In Cheddar he actively fought against his superiors, made himself out to be one with a rebellious attitude who only wished to take orders from himself, not the rotund, useless, weak men who had worked above him. He hated saying, ' _Yes sir_ ', and he hated having to submit to others.

But this was different. As a police man it was part of the job, you do this, you do that, or you get fired and struggle to sustain yourself. Here it was pure, abstract _instinct_, a sharp resolution that she was the Alpha and he was merely the lowly servant who's only task was to obey.

Vilhelm hated it, but it compelled him strongly.

"Yes, Mistress."

Certainly there was a sense that he was repulsed by his new diet. He had experienced many a awful thing, and had done many things folks would balk at as well, but there was something inherently wrong about drinking the fluids of another person (although he wasn't a person anymore).

But the elation washed any disgust away, as he drank. Replaced it was with strength and power, a promise of speed to outmatch any creature and the raw force of a jaw that could crush steel if he so wished. Hypnosis and shadow powers, transformation and the ability to create even more strength beneath you.

It was power that no human could dare dream to achieve, power than he could have never even begun to reach shooting up murderers and terrorists as a mortal.

Vilhelm drank to the last drop.

His mistress surveyed, features a harsh mix of pride and disconsolation.

* * *

In the two days that Vilhelm was allowed to explore and adjust, he came to a quick conclusion that he was not fond of.

His sire was an absolute disappointment.

When one imagined a vampire, they usually saw the same image - powerful beyond belief, ruthless, bloodthirsty, terrifying creatures who stalked the night and terrorized the towns they resided in, picking off victims as the moon slowly waxed overhead, bathing in the perfume of fear of those who still lived.

Seras was like a puppy.

She was always inexplicably happy. Always smiling, friendly towards the general staff and the soldiers, chatting away as if she were a social butterfly of the age she looked (he wasn't sure of her actual age just yet).

She hummed under her breath, sometimes belting out right into slightly off key song, and had an affinity for flowers, something he had discovered after stumbling across her in the hallway, parading about with a large pile of dandelions.

"The gardener was just going to destroy them," she had said merrily, as if that explained anything.

Disappointing.

Even more so because as he explored, he could hear the rumours.

Everyone with high positions in Hellsing appeared to have their own nicknames. Iron Maiden for the head, Angel of Death for the elderly butler.

_The No-Life Queen. Hellsing's Red Angel. The Bloody Siren._

None of these fit the bubbly mass of sun that was his mistress. Vilhelm's instincts may have called to it, but she certainly didn't act like a queen. Or even held the air of a regal. Sir Integra exuded that sort of air, and from the get go Walter gave off the distinct vibe that he was far more than he looked.

Seras, with her bright disposition and cheerful manner she talked to him in, was an utter let down, a black sheep of the main trio that made the heads of Hellsing.

He himself felt a melting pot of abilities he never could have imagined. Even within that short amount of time they allowed him to wander and adjust, Vilhelm was quickly discovering the many wonderful quirks that came with his new undead life - he could hear everything, conversations from several rooms over, bugs in the walls. Sight allowed him to see with better vision than even the most gifted human, and in the text he took to reading, he discovered it would give him the affinity of a telescope.

But to his chagrin, he could not use that power as of yet. None of them really; as enthusiastic as Vilhelm was growing, he surmised that like a wolf pup must learn to live in the wild from their mother, he needed the guidance of his sire.

Seras had smiled, told him to slow down and to relax for now, and that he had the rest of eternity to learn.

_Disappointing_.

It was the second day he resolutely decided he would best his sire, surpass her, and quickly asked for his bed to be replaced by a coffin.

"You're taking this quite easily," Walter hummed, as he carried the spectacularly crafted casket through the doorway. The elder man held himself with a quiet dignity and refinement and in his presence Vilhelm was immediately sure that he was carrying about the 'friendly old bloke' act as easily as he could lift that coffin. A mask, and he wondered if his Mistress could see it as well (probably not, as dim as she was).

Vilhelm's old uniform had been replaced with the official Hellsing garb, complete with the patch where his heart once beat, where it bore their creed, '_ We're on a mission from God_' . He smoothed out wrinkles as he answered steadily, "I am used to being thrown into unexpected situations, so I have learned to adjust."

"You were perfectly alright with leaving your old life behind?"

Where did this impromptu investigation come from, and why was it the butler who was conducting it? Brushing his own inquiries off, Vilhelm graced his company with a rare smile. The movement of muscles allowed him to feel the outward press of thick fangs, sharp enough to pierce bone to dust without the slightest bit of effort. The points knicked briefly at the skin inside of his lip, only for the area to heal not a second later.

The feel was a good one. It gave promise to power, strength, death and command.

" I was only just turned, but I suppose you can say I never truly had a life before I became undead."

Quite suddenly, he was dying to go on his first mission.

* * *

Something that Vilhelm learned rapidly was even with his eagerness to jump right into the role of a nightwaker, human habits still stuck with you when you were only just bitten. Your heart could still feel like it was racing, you still experienced adrenaline, and you continued to pant when you were running away from something especially dangerous.

His first outing into the night had gone smoothly, if not a bit dully. Seras had all the fun of breaking into the house, he merely shot a running target.

His second outing showed promise, much more promise when the bible quotes-spewing Irishman turned up. But again. Reckless. Arrogant.

For a moment, he had imagined longingly that this was a chance for redemption, another priest that he could decimate. Instead, Vilhelm found himself staggering down the darkened hallway of the building the mission took place in, holy weapons lodged into his back and Seras' neatly severed head tucked into one arm. Their master-relationship servant had compelled him to pick it up, but the dracula was still seething in the failure of his mistress. Up against a actually strong enemy for the first time since he was turned, and she had been killed so damn quickly.

Pathetic.

But for as pathetic as she was, Vilhelm had the grace to be aware that he was no better here. He had used up nearly every last bullet he had on him, fought with the same reverence that night in Cheddar, and had received these blades that burned like fire into his spine. He was still young, just an infant among vampires, with no true hold over his powers just yet. If she could be erased so easily, so could he - something that was far too close to happening before his boss arrived.

Stunned as he was that this human woman was holding her ground against a man with the ability to regenerate, Vilhelm pulled himself back into action as he aimed his gun towards Anderson's back, ignoring the insistent voice mocking (_you only have the courage to aim again now that he's not facing you_), snarling wildly like a cornered dog. Anderson merely laughed in return.

Their noisy intimidation tactics were stopped as Sir Hellsing spoke. Calm. Confident. _Amused_.

"Staked her heart? Cut off her head? That's all?"

A scuttling in the background, and Vilhelm involuntarily shrunk back like a whipped dog.

"I'm afraid she isn't like any other vampire you've known."

A torrential wind burst into the hallway, nearly drowning out the sudden chorus of screeching bats.

"Seras has been broken and beaten and experimented on in our organization for over a century now. It's going to take far more than a simple decapitation to render her useless."

The winged creatures were in a frenzy, flocking together in an erratic group. Vilhelm watched in simple astonishment as a human form was created from the ground up.

Veins, muscle, tissue, rapidly melding together as his mistress came back to life. Energy poured out of her in such astonishing waves it crippled Vilhelm's thoughts and nearly forced him to his knees. Dandelion hair flowed out like watercolour splashed across a canvas, red eyes glowing so brightly it was blinding, every tooth behind pink lips sharpened to a point. An utter demand for respect and obedience, a reminder that the angel-like figure being reborn was the highest in rank of the undead.

_Beautiful._

_Breathtaking._

_Our Queen._

_My Queen._

The sudden fascination did not cease even after the priest had fled in a flurry of weathered paper. He lingered after her, and for the first time Vilhelm found something other than a need to obey her orders shifting in his system; a desire for acceptance, for approval, for her to look onto him with pride.

As stubborn and prone to talking back to authority as he was, Vilhelm could respect those who proved that they could deserve it. And Seras certainly still didn't look like she did, but she_ felt_ like she did.

"And how did the police man do?" Integra was asking, producing a cigar. She didn't look bothered that her men were dead around her.

Vilhelm raised his head as he was mentioned.

"He fights recklessly," Seras mused, drifting a glance his way. Her voice wasn't cold or demeaning, but it wasn't the approval he now craved either. "Doesn't take the time to process who he's up against. Honestly, we're kinda lucky he didn't end up with his head on the floor too."

"I trust you to reign him in then."

He didn't want to be reigned in. Vilhelm frowned. "I deserve more credit than that. I fought back to the best of my abilities."

"You only ran when you finally realized he was out of your league, and that should've been sooner. Like I said, you're pretty lucky you didn't end up rolling around lifelessly around with me," came the smooth counter. "Many vampires fight frantically like that, and they end up dead the second they come across anyone more experienced.."

There was no room for any more argument, as the two women left, compelling him to follow, feathers thoroughly ruffled.

* * *

"Teach me to do that."

Seras looked up from her book - some sappy schlock - to regard her childe. "Teach you what?"

"How to rebuild yourself after being completely destroyed. Everything."

"I'm afraid you will never be able to do it that easily," the draculina responded, easing back into her chair. Velhilm had found her in the library, the day after the incident in Ireland.

"And why is that?"

"You have my blood, but you do not have the experience Hellsing has given me. When you release all of your powers you'll be incredibly strong, but the right hit at the right spot in the brain or your heart will kill you immediately."

A disconcerting notion. "I may not have been a vampire for long, but I doubt a human could so easily kill me."

His Mistress chuckled, the sound infuriating. "You really shouldn't underestimate mortals."

"Why don't you use yours more often?" Vilhelm pressed, switching the subject as he stood by her. "I've never felt anything like that with any of the other vampires I've come across, and everything in me tells me I never will."

He knelt before her, imploring. "You have such promise, such potential for destruction and command over others, and yet you never use it. You let yourself be tied down like a dog."

Seras' fingers curled in their gloves. She had explained that they were important for keeping her powers in check, as well as her loyalty to Hellsing, the dark ruins stark on the white material.

"You could burn this entire place to the ground, kill off everyone and be free-"

As was the case the night he was turned, the attack happened as fast as he could blink. A force had struck him, slamming his lanky body into a bookshelf. It rattled, threatened to topple, and several books struck his head and shoulders as they came lurching down. His vision was blinded by scores of red eyes and undulating shadows. Her arm had come undone.

The human in him, his ingrained personality, was amused that he managed to spark such a nerve that Seras would strike him.

The fledgling vampire was positively terrified he had angered his Master. Against his own will Vilhelm found himself tilting his neck a bit, baring his neck.

"I'm not as stupid as you think," Seras uttered, voice now thickened and gutteral. He still had to rest his chin against his chest to look her in the eye, but there was a hellfire in that gaze that both enthralled and frightened him. "It was obvious from the second I drank your blood that you were going to be the sort of fledgling who'd be a prat when they gained their first taste of power. You were the kind of bloke who'd imagine vividly how he'd wrong things with an iron fist once - if - you became police chief."

Vilhelm stiffened, despite being well aware by this point of how his blood transferred memories to the girl.

"It's a common mistake people who actively yearn to become vampires make. They just want the cool powers, they want to make an army of the undead, they want to feel that strength. They go overboard, and you know what happens to those vampires?" A grin split over her mouth, impossibly wide. He could hear jawbones creaking with the effort. "They get a stake in the heart by a human, or get a silver bullet from me."

She let him go. The stab of the shelves behind Vilhelm left deep bruises, rapidly healing.

"You _think_ that you're a proper nosferatu because you drink blood and can crush a human in a single blow. Those are merely _elements_ of being one of the undead. It doesn't make you one. And once you cross the line of wanting to wipe everything around you, merely to show off, you become a monster."

The statement managed to catch him off guard. Vilhelm couldn't look away as she monologued, his brows furrowing. "But we are monsters. We're vampires."

In the quiet of the library, Seras didn't initially respond. She went to retrieve her book, which had gone flying when she did, and smiled. It was genuine, melancholy, very much unlike the one that ripped her face apart. A tendril picked up the fallen item, and she answered presently, "In the literal sense, yes. We feed on human blood, we can transform into wolves and bats, hell - children dress up like us for Halloween. We're a fixture in monster movies."

Plopping back down in her seat, Seras regarded him, undoubtedly sensing the confusion rolling through Vilhelm. Confused at the several different faces he had seen in his Mistress over the last couple of weeks since he had joined Hellsing - the sweet, overly cheerful face of a girl who looked far more dull than she appeared, the descent of the Queen of vampires who could end life without having to touch her foe, who dared those around to challenge her, and this kind, understanding, patient woman, speech fraying with a soft sorrow. Not for the first time he wondered just how old she was, what she had experienced throughout her endless lifetime.

"But we don't have to be in the psychological sense."

* * *

It was a few days later, when he popped the question. There had been no more missions, and Vilhelm had spent the time training on the outside shooting range, still managing to fight a faint delight in just how easily he could use that third eye of his.

He found her in the library again.

"If you knew instantly that I was the sort who craved power, the most dangerous human to turn into a vampire, why did you keep me around?"

Initially he expected her answer to be of the simpering sort. Some nonsense about how she didn't want to kill an innocent.

What he didn't expect was, "As you may remember me telling you, I gained all of your memories that night. It told me you were rash and prone to going to the extreme when in certain situations, but it also told me you aren't all that bad."

Again, that smile.

Vilhelm scowled in return. "If you tell me some nonsense like '_it told me you were actually a great guy deep down'_, I will forfeit any of the begrudging respect I have gained for you."

Seras laughed, high and girlish. "Then I won't."

* * *

The massive collection of books within the mansion were, unsurprisingly, loaded with many stuffed with information about vampires. Many more were fictional tales; Sir Hellsing boasted too many copies of Dracula to count, from newer editions to ones so old they looked like they would disintegrate if touched.

With no missions, Vilhelm took to these when he was not practicing his shot, not bothering to socialize with the soldiers or his other co-workers. And as he read, he pondered.

Still so baffling was his Mistress, with her ability to be both genuinely kind and distinctly vicious in one breath. The vampires in these books took on both the appearances of twisted, gruesome beings with sharpened ears and skin like ancient paper, and devilishly attractive creatures who stole into people's bedrooms and seduced them for their livelihood. Even when she exploded with power, Seras matched neither of these descriptions.

He tooled over the books and his thoughts, of the things that caused him to become a dangerous candidate for a nightwalker in the first place. Of a child who was quiet, but perfectly fine, who played in the woods with his brothers before he was caught and turned over and broken.

The human mind had a fascinating way of dealing with trauma, that didn't involve repressing memories. You resolved to pull yourself up from the depths, not allowing anyone to harm you in such a manner ever again.

Vilhelm refused. He fought. He maimed. He struggled to get to the top.

( _The sort of guy who would take advantage if he became boss, to compensate for a weak past_ )

Becoming one of the supernatural would have been the ultimate trip, but he recalled the priest on the night Seras took him in. Mad with the possibilities being a vampire could bring. Snuffed out instantly by a silver bullet.

The books spoke to him of vampires who met the very same deaths. Pitiful. And always at the hands of humans. Too vain for their own good.

He thought of Seras warning that could be his own fate.

As he threaded page through page, he began to notice a pattern among the texts. Vampires who longed to be as famously regarded as Bram Stoker's creation, who took on pseudonyms to make them seem more like the fabled King of the Vampires. A simple variation on the name, pulling it backwards.

In those brief few weeks he had tumbled his way through varying emotions - elation at this new lease to be powerful, frustration at his Mistress, an utter befuddlement at how the ' we do not have to be depraved creatures ' rhetoric she had thrown at him.

Yet, mixing somewhere with all of that, he was pleased with this shift in his story.

A new life, after one stained with so many horrid things.

Vilhelm thumbed at the typewritten words. _Alucard._

Seras was undoubtedly going to scold him for continuing to be a show off, for trying to jump the gun before he truly learned what it meant to be a nosferatu (whatever that meant in her eyes), but when one was starting a whole new journey and leaving the past one behind for good, they deserved to make a few changes.

* * *

I actually wrote most of this the day after I posted the first chapter haha, had to stop myself from publishing it that soon!

So, apologies if this seemed rushed, I really just wanted to get Alucard's first few weeks - including Anderson's appearance - out of the way. The next some chapters are going to really focus on the growing relationship between Integra/Seras/Alucard, while also explaining how Seras' own vampirism came to be. :

While the other fanfic with the same story had the characters as they were when Hellsing started, I opted for Seras having her 30 year timeskip personality (MUCH more confident and badass, but still her nice and goofy self), while Alucard's personality is situated during his human years, but before he started throwing people onto spikes; so because I'm not trying to write a historically accurate Vlad Tepes, he's mostly a lot of headcanon. :'D


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